Where the pure water-lilies dwell,
Shedding forth tender gleams;
And o’er the pool the May-fly’s wing
Glances in golden eves of spring!
Oh, lone and lovely haunts are thine!
Soft, soft the river flows,
Wearing the shadow of thy line,
The gloom of alder-boughs;
And in the midst a richer hue,
One gliding vein of heaven’s own blue.